


tenderness / (you are my) home

by vl_kyrie



Series: Jetko Renaissance Week [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Ficlet, Jetko Renaissance Week, M/M, i guess, it's the neon moon tarot it's the tightest shit, not sponsored just a tarot nerd, that's a lot of tags for not even 700 words wow, what if i told you this universe is based on a tarot deck i own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27124744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vl_kyrie/pseuds/vl_kyrie
Summary: Jetko Rennaissance Week 2020 - Day 4, Tenderness" “Be more careful next time,” Zuko says. Jet raises an eyebrow.“What, you worried about me?” Jet prods. Zuko sniffs.“...Yes, actually. I was." "(Zuko patches Jet up after a fight.)
Relationships: Jet/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Jetko Renaissance Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976929
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28
Collections: Jetko Renaissance Week





	tenderness / (you are my) home

**Author's Note:**

> once again I bring you incomplete lore  
> enjoy these two they're trying their best <33

“That was a really stupid idea,” says Jet with a barely-suppressed wince. Zuko uses a pair of metal tweezers to pluck stray bits of fabric out of the bullet graze on his leg and drop the scraps one-by-one on a towel next to him. They’re back in the old hotel they’ve taken up residence in. It smells like chemicals and blood, and it’s chilly without any heat, but it’s theirs. It’s quiet.  _ Safe.  _ Nobody bothers them here, not when they’re so far from the inner city. It’s as close to a home as anything gets anymore.

Zuko fixes him with a look. “And whose idea was it?” 

“Irrelevant,” counters Jet. Zuko rolls his eyes and continues his cleaning. He pulls Jet’s leg a little further into his lap to reach the edges of the wound near his knee. Then he’s done and he pours a little bit of alcohol from a brown glass bottle over the length of the wound. Jet inhales through his teeth -- Zuko quickly presses the corner of a towel to it. 

“Be more careful next time,” Zuko says. Jet raises an eyebrow. 

“What, you worried about me?” Jet prods. Zuko sniffs. 

“...Yes, actually. I was. But not only that, it’s just. What if they were magic users? We were lucky that the new moon was last night; we might not be so lucky next time,” Zuko says. Jet hums absently. He’s heard this before. “Jet, I’m serious. I can’t always be around to help deflect spells for you. You _really_ should learn some incantations yourself.”

Jet holds up a hand. “I don’t go there. You know that.” 

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to go all the way. Even a simple healing spell would be enough,” Zuko says. Jet just shakes his head.

“No, I’m not risking it. I know how slippery that slope is. I don’t want to get caught up in the power of it. Too dangerous. I won’t lose anything else to magic; not if I can help it.” Quieter, then, Jet continues, “I’m not like you. I wasn’t born with it.”

Zuko… breathes a deep sigh. He doesn’t respond right away, preferring to turn his attention on wrapping Jet’s leg with a bandage. (It’s technically a strip cut from an old sheet that’s been soaked and sun-bleached clean. Close enough.) When he finishes tying it around the back of Jet’s calf, he says, softly, “I wish I wasn’t.”

“I know,” Jet says back. How could he forget? He knows the story of the raw mana burn over Zuko’s eye, given to him by his father. Zuko told it to him a month after they began travelling together, in quiet whispers as they huddled together in the shell of an old car to keep the warmth in. Jet remembers the way his arm curled around Zuko’s shoulders while he spoke.  _ It’s from just after the fall,  _ he’d said.  _ When I still lived in the inner city, before. _

Before the end of the world. Before everything went to shit. Before the neon moon showed up and woke magic in half the population. Before people figured out how to use it to  _ hurt,  _ and everything that followed. 

Jet sits up from his slump against the shoddy old headboard of the hotel bed. He puts a hand against the side of Zuko’s head, turns his face to look at him.

“Hey,” he breathes. Zuko’s eyes flick to his.

Jet rubs his thumb across Zuko’s cheek; Zuko tilts his head into it, just a little. 

“‘M sorry I made you worry. I’ll be more careful from now on. I will.” His lips pull into an almost-smile. “But you have to be, too. We gotta stick together, you and me.” 

“Together,” Zuko echoes. He rests his hand across the back of Jet’s on his face. 

Jet presses his lips to Zuko’s jaw in a barely-there touch. “Together.”

  
  


Maybe it’s human nature to learn how to hurt with whatever tools you’re given. But it’s not Zuko’s. 

They fall asleep with their bodies curled together in the old bed, and Jet thinks,  _ this is what safety feels like.  _


End file.
